


By the Hand of Fate by Lisle Mojin

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unseen conclusion to the pilot episode, Switchman</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Hand of Fate by Lisle Mojin

Disclaimer: PetFly and UPN owns 'em. I promise to return Jim and Blair in the same or better condition than when I picked them up. (Yep, right out there on the highway!) No infringement of copyright is intended by the posting of this piece of fan-fic. And while no money exchanged hands, copyright of the story belongs to me. However, feel free to share this story with your closest slash gal or buddy! Rating: PG-13 

Note: This is in response to MegaRed's challenge of writing a possible J/B relationship story after each episode. I've chosen the Pilot, simply because there were a couple of issues I wanted to deal with, which the show did not. My thanks to the gals at SSPND for beta-reading this; also to Kim Gasper for beta-reading and coming up with the title. Thanks, ladies - this is for you! 

## By The Hand Of Fate

by Lisle Mojin  


"Quarter for your thoughts?" 

Jim Ellison glanced up from his contemplation of his cold coffee to meet Blair Sandburg's eyes. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "A quarter?" 

"Price of inflation, man." Blair replied casually, and as he took in the slight furrowing of Jim's brow, added, "I'm a good listener, you know." 

Jim sighed, rolling the coffee cup between his hands. "Thinking about Veronica. I mean I know I'm not responsible for the fact her dad is dead, but..." 

"You still feel it's your fault you couldn't do more." 

Jim nodded. "When she said that I'd left them there to die and she was all alone, well, I knew exactly how she felt. I was in that jungle for 18 months, and felt pretty well abandoned there by...everyone. And she's young. No one that young should be left alone." He fell silent. 

"You can feel responsible if you want to, Jim, but the fact of the matter is, you had no control over who lived or died in that helicopter crash. Give yourself a break, man. She can blame you if she wants, you can't control that either. But she isn't being rational about it." 

Jim glanced up again, his expression a little bitter. "You can't expect someone in pain to be real rational about losing a close family member. Her father was all she had, when we left on that mission. I remember Tom telling me his wife had been killed when Veronica was 13 - car crash, and she was an only child. Out of eight men, I'm the only one to come back alive. I'm sure she's thinking - why him? Why not my dad?" 

"I understand that, and I can sympathize with her to some extent. But not to the point where I can condone how many people's lives she put at risk - all in the name of revenge on you. All I'm saying is - it's not *your* fault. She's responsible for her actions - she's the one who took her grief and pain and twisted it into something ugly. It didn't matter to her that it was you she targeted - any person who had made it out of Peru alive would have sufficed. It just happened to be you." Blair reached across the table and brushed on of Jim's hand with his own. "Fate is weird, man. You can't influence it, you can't escape it, and it's hard to accept when shit happens." 

"Voice of experience, sounds like to me." Jim looked across the desk at the grad student. 

Blair smiled wryly. "Yeah, I've been around the block a time or two with fate. I mean - look at how we met. How was it that I happened to be seeing a nurse at the hospital where you went for help on your senses? That's fate, Jim." 

"Maybe." 

Blair decided to change the subject a little. "Did you ever find out why you'd been left that long in Peru without back-up?" 

Jim Ellison leaned back in his chair, balancing his weight on the back two legs, and stared at Sandburg. "I was given some half-ass explanation that they'd heard about the crash and assumed all lives had been lost. Rebel activity being strong, no one dare go in to check about survivors. Something about it rang wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I got out shortly after that and haven't given it much thought since then. Why?" 

Blair regarded Jim thoughtfully. "Just wondering if Fate was playing her hand again, that's all. The only reason your latent sentinel abilities came out, was those 18 months in the jungle --virtually alone. I know you had help and contact with the locals, but I'd imagine you kept pretty much to yourself, right?" 

Jim nodded and then tilted his chair into the upright position. "Frankly, I don't recall a great deal of what I did during that time now. It's all sort of a blur. But yeah, I didn't interact with the locals much unless I had to. So?" 

"So...you're dumped into a remote locale, pretty much on your own, left to survive by your wits - by your senses, if you will, and look what happens to you. Your latent abilities come to the fore, to help you survive in a hostile environment; forcing you to adapt and use those gifts which are innate. If any of those other men had survived that crash instead of you - they'd most probably *not* have survived those 18 months." 

"You don't know that, Chief," Jim protested. "That's a pretty large leap in logic there." 

"No, not so large. Don't forget I read that spread in Newsweek about you. You had to avoid large predators of all different kinds including the two-legged variety, avoid eating the wrong plant life and animals for food, find clean, decent sources of water - how did you do that?" Blair waved his hand at Jim, when he looked as if he'd interrupt. "I know - some of it was the training you got in covert ops, but for the specialized skills you needed for being where you were, you depended on your senses. That training you received would only take you so far, the rest of it was instinct to survive and your sentinel abilities. None of your other Army buddies had your heightened senses. Ergo, Veronica's dad would most probably not have survived the jungle if he'd been the one to survive the crash. Jim, listen to me, man. You aren't at fault for surviving, and you aren't at fault for the fact he did not! And you don't need to feel guilty over Veronica." 

Jim watched as Blair's passion to make him see reason over Veronica, wound down and was a little amazed to feel an intensity of emotion wash over him. Conviction, rightness truth. The unsettled culpability he'd been feeling for the last few hours after Veronica had confronted him, slowly seeped from his skin, and for the first time that day, he felt his muscles unclench and finally relax. 

Blair sat perfectly still, trying to convey his certainty over what he truly believed. Jim wasn't at fault for what Veronica did. Jim had to believe this. And so it was with a slight sigh of relief that he saw Jim's eyes brighten, his jaw relax, and his hands finally unclench the coffee cup. 

"Better than a shrink there, Sandburg. You sure you're not a witch doctor?" Jim felt a peaceful tiredness steal over him. And also felt the huge hole where his stomach used to be. "How about some dinner, Chief. I'll buy." 

Blair was a bit startled by the total turn-around in attitude. "I, uh, minored in psych, actually, Jim. You sure you're okay?" 

Jim stopped rubbing his empty middle, caught by the serious tone of Blair's voice. He said, softly, "Yes." He ducked his head a bit, before looking back into those solemn blue eyes. "I'm not one to talk about what I feel a whole lot. Analysis is for the birds. But on occasion, I do take a look back on my actions - I can find myself wanting about things I did - or do. I suppose a part of me *did* know I wasn't to blame about Veronica, but it'd be even harder to live with myself if I totally dismissed what she was saying and feeling out of hand. Could I have done something to save him? Probably not. You call what happened fate. All I have are questions which don't seem to have answers. And since I can't answer them, I might as well try to be at peace about what is." 

"'Accept the things you can't change' philosophy..." Blair smiled. "Sounds like fate to me. And yes, I'd love to have some food." 

After wrangling over where they wanted to go for a meal; Ellison wanted half a cow at a Sizzler's, Sandburg wanted bread and salad bar at the local Olive Garden, they settled for Chinese at the Moon Palace. Now that he'd re-focused on the outside world rather than the introspective one which had claimed him since the Switchman's capture, Jim found himself absorbed by his young companion. 'Well, maybe not that young. Looks about mid-to-late-20's, has the enthusiasm of a 12 year old, but the life experiences of someone in his 40's.' Jim found himself fascinated by all the different expressions which passed through Blair's face. Passion for his work, regret for the lost cultures and civilizations he'd studied, awe and wonder at the things Jim said he could sense. A very complex package was Blair Sandburg - which was very unusual in someone so young. In comparison, Jim felt more than a little over the hill and wondered if there had ever been a time in his own life he'd felt the zest for life that Blair exhibited. He sighed. 

"What's the matter, Jim?" Blair cocked his head at his pre-occupied companion. 

Jim equivocated. "Just feeling my age, Chief. I think that impact with the top of the bus, not to mention the glass window in the back, definitely made an impression on several body parts. At the moment I could wish for a nice hot tub at the police gym." 

"Hmm. Does your digs have a shower or a bath tub?" 

"Shower. No tub. Why?" 

"Tutored a young lady a year ago - she was flunking out. I have this huge old-fashioned tub with the four bear-claw legs at my place, she bought me one of those portable whirlpool machines, in gratitude. Stick it in the bath, and instant bubbly water. How about you come to my place, have a good soak. And I can also teach you some relaxation techniques to help out when you're tense and stressed." 

Jim, about to turn the offer down, felt sudden sharp twinges in his lower back, a dull ache in his chest, and both knees on the verge of popping and reconsidered. "O-kay, Sandburg," he drawled every so slowly. "But no humming, making me eat or drink anything with a more complex name than tea and crackers, and no weird music. Capish?" 

Blair grinned. "Would I do...no, don't answer that. Okay, man. Let's go." 

The warehouse to which Blair directed Jim to drive, looked like it needed to be torn down rather than lived in. 

"My god, Sandburg, why here?" 

Blair shrugged. "I like my privacy. It's quiet, I have a large space to rattle around in as I'm working on a number of projects just now and it's not out of my price range. What's not to like?" 

Jim looked at him in disbelief. "It looks like a strong gust could blow it over - that's what's not to like. Must be a bitch to heat in the winter, the rain coming down must sound like bullets impacting on that metal roof, not to mention the possible infestation of all sorts of unwanted rodents and insects. You're nuts, Chief, if you think I'm staying here!" 

"Uh-uh, Jim. It'll be fine. Just come on and see the inside." And grabbing Ellison's arm, Blair pulled the reluctant cop to the front, er, door. Blair got the door unlocked in no time, and pushed Jim forward into his abode. While not much better than the outside, Jim was amazed to find that somehow the inside managed to convey the feeling of lived-in warmth - quite at odds with his own domicile of cold sterility. Artifacts of every kind littered the tops of bureaus, dressers, desks and bookcases. Throw rugs of all different styles, shapes and colors covered the concrete floor, and instead of being the jumbled disarray it should have been, seem instead to reflect the colorful personality of its owner. Only a small portion of the vast space was really in use. Blair looked as if he'd set it up for easiest convenience - with most everything within easy reach of everything else. The kitchen, if you could call it that, spilled over into the living room. The bedroom, set off to one side, was delineated by an oriental screen from the rest of the space. And as for the room known as the bath... An old fashioned pedestal sink and high-backed toilet was laid up against the outside wall, with number of strange looking tapestries attached to the metal walls. And as for the tub... 

The grad student had not been kidding about the tub. Jim decided it was about 7 feet in length and the sides rose to over 2.5 feet off the floor. The back end was nicely sloped at what looked to be a reclining 45 degree angle. And while the porcelain looked cold, Jim's imagination was good enough to see that once filled with hot water, it'd be almost comfortable enough to sleep in. Off-setting it all was the catch-as-catch-can plumbing which wound its way from the near wall to the spigots and faucet. Looked as if someone had more plumbing supplies than sense when they installed it. Blair, maybe? Hmm. 

Having taken a survey of the whole place and ending up in what passed for the bathroom, Jim wondered what was next. 

Blair came over with an odd contraption in his hand and set it at the faucet end of the tub, just out of the way of the possible spray. He impishly grinned over at Jim, and said, "Watch your ears, man." Before Jim could comprehend that statement, Blair turned on the faucet. An ear-piercing whistle shot out of the faucet, followed shortly by a fierce banging which grew steadily in pitch, before slowly banking off. Jim grabbed his head to try and shut out the noise (to no avail) and glared at Blair, who was trying hard not to laugh. Though not hearing the explanation, Jim's lip-reading was up to, "Water hammer." The sounds slowly subsided and trailed off altogether. Jim decided the bells of St. Mary's were ringing in his head and that just maybe the university was going to have to do without the services of one anthropology grad student...as he was going to quickly expire at Jim's hands. 

Blair marched over to Jim and pulled down Jim's hands from his ears. Not laughing, not even betraying any amusement at all in his intent expression, Blair's hands proceeded to reach up and over Jim's shoulders and running his fingers over the back of Jim's head, kneading the taut muscles of the neck and upper shoulders. He was somewhat hampered by the bandages on his right hand, but gradually he felt a difference in the tenseness of the muscles he was massaging, how the scalp of the head relaxed a bit into his fingers, and how the clenched jaw softened and released its hardness. Blair's gaze which had been on what he was doing, shifted to Jim's eyes. They were closed, the lines around them almost invisible. Suddenly they opened and Blair found himself caught by the depth of blue, by the gentleness in the expression. His heart rate kicking into over drive, Blair dropped his hands and turned back to the tub. 

"Sorry about that, Jim," he muttered. "Should have realized it'd more than just the 'fingernails on the blackboard' sorta thing for you. How're the ears?" 

Jim cleared his throat to answer. "I think I'll survive. Although for a moment there, your survival was in doubt!" 

Blair found himself relaxing and turned to face him. "No more than I deserved, man. How about you strip, adjust the water to the temperature *you'd* like, and...oh, hold on." Striding to the nearest dresser, he pulled out a towel, which he then laid on the sloping back of the tub, half in and half out of the water. "And when you're ready, get in. I'll be back in a few minutes." 

Jim watched as Blair made a somewhat hasty retreat. While he slowly undressed, he evaluated the last few minutes. The pain from the water hammer had been intense, but that had subsided quickly enough to the steady ringing drone in his ears. He'd been surprised when Blair suddenly grabbed his wrists, lowering them out of the way, and had felt a distinct shock run through him as those fingers started massaging his scalp, working their way to his neck and shoulders, gliding and rubbing over his skin. At first he had to still his entire body to prevent the shiver he'd felt. A shiver which slowly changed to a warmth which started where those fingers alternated between caressing and digging in and slowly spread down his whole body. Jim had watched the absorbed face for a moment as Blair's concentration stayed with his hands' motion, and then slowly closed his eyes to concentrate on the what and why fors. 

Blair Sandburg. Anthropology grad student - and possible new partner in his life. The only person who'd known what was wrong with him; who knew what Jim was and understood. And despite Jim not liking the answers, and doing his best to intimidate Blair, he hadn't backed down. Blair had told him flat out that Jim needed him. 'I, of course, didn't believe him, and promptly tried to get myself killed.' The zone-out had taken on a very surreal like quality. One minute aware of all that was going on around him, the next like he was watching a slow-motion movie and moving through quicksand. His next real awareness was being hit hard from behind and pushed forcibly to the ground. His senses kicked in with a vengeance, and he knew immediately who was on the ground beside him - knew the scent, could hear the racing heartbeat. And realized he was only alive because of Blair. It was over in an instant, and Blair's reaction to being literally run over brought home just what he owed the younger man. And what he was beginning to feel for him. 

When he'd opened his eyes to check on Blair's progress with his impromptu massage, he'd felt that little flutter in his stomach upon seeing Blair's intent gaze on his face. And knew right then, that this man was going to profoundly change his life. Had changed it. And Blair, obviously had felt some connection also if his quick release of Jim's body and increase in heart rate was any indication. 

Having finished undressing, Jim took the last couple of steps to the tub, felt the water. The temperature of the water was just a bit on the too-hot side, but Jim knew he'd adapt. In fact, his body needed that warmth and badly. Stepping cautiously into the water, he let his skin adjust to the heat before slowly lowering his body. 

"Oh, god, bliss," he whispered, leaning back on the towel. He closed his eyes and allowed the warmth to enfold him.  
  


* * *

  


Blair stood in the kitchen, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the water to boil. He wasn't sure which of the many things he was feeling he should think about first. 'I found a real live Sentinel' seemed to be at war with 'how could you have been so stupid to do that to Jim's hearing' and 'what the hell happened when I looked into Jim's eyes'. Breathe, Sandburg, empty your mind of everything, close your eyes for a minute, find your center... 

Okay. Easiest first. So I acted like an idiot about turning on the tub faucet like that. Looks as if Jim is willing to forgive, so let's chalk that up to my being a bit of an ass and *never* do that again. Fine. 

Next. I have found a real live Sentinel and it looks as if he's willing to take me on as partner and guide if I don't ruin it completely. Wow! The last twenty-four hours has been incredible. Finding Jim, getting him to listen to me - sorta, saving his life... 

Now, that was totally unreal. I knew he'd zoned out when I saw him just standing there right in the middle of the road. And I still don't know how I got to him in time, pushing him to the ground like that...what a rush! But at the same time - both of us could easily be road kill now. Sometimes Blair, old buddy, you've got the luck of the Irish with you, cause you sure weren't thinking when you did that! Still...Jim's zoning out and my saving him seems to have brought us together. 

Blair reviewed the day quickly: checking out of the bomb site, the perfume shops, figuring out the Switchman was a she, not a he, deciding to get on board the bus (real fool-hardy there, Blair), hoping Jim saw where he'd gone, assisting in her capture and arrest. His hand gave a throb to remind him of the punch he'd thrown that knocked Veronica out. And Jim's assertion about them becoming partners and teasing him about going to the police academy. Yeah, right. A more unlikely candidate never lived. 

And then back to the police station...and I thought I had paperwork. Cops really have it bad! A report for the case. A report on firing his weapon. The report I had to make out. Even medical forms on the injury I sustained. Sheesh. And then Jim's melancholy over Veronica... Who'd have thought such a big tough guy like Jim would be feeling the guilts over ...which just proves, Blair, old son, you should never judge a book by its cover. While Jim Ellison may be a real-life Sentinel, a 'throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man', he's also a human being with foibles, faults, feelings and more honesty, integrity, gentleness and caring than most ten men put together. Which leads me to...what I felt, what I saw, what I wanted, when I looked into those eyes. I must be crazy. I mean, sure, jerk off with Timmy behind the barn at Uncle Stefano's -chalk that up to a little adolescent exploration and feeling constantly horny. Yeah, Tim and I did have a great time exploring our bodies to see what they could and couldn't do, what they liked and didn't like. But it was fun, casual. Not...intense. Not gut-wrenching. Not...no, I don't want to consider it...it was not...just could not be. Don't even know the man hardly. He's virtually a complete stranger. So, why did it feel so right to just reach out and alleviate that pain I'd caused; why did I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach when those eyes opened. Why did it feel as if...this is my destiny...my fate... Blair snorted. The water kettle started to whistle, and he took it off the stove. A short time later, tea made, along with crackers on a plate, he carried a tray into the bath area. 

Blair supposed he should have considered the effect that figure laid out all bare to his eyes would have on both his emotions and his body. He hadn't. 

He'd set the tray down on the toilet and turned to give Jim his cup of tea and just froze. Jim's head was resting on the back edge, his eyes closed. The neck was totally exposed and Blair's tongue literally itched to bath it. That powerful neck flowed into the shoulders, the muscles in both, while relaxed, looked to contain the strength of a Samson or a Hercules. The broad chest peaked with small nipples just about forced all the air out of Blair's lungs, and he had to turn his head to look at something else. 

"Chief?" 

Blair glanced back at the man quickly before settling his gaze on the cup he held. "Uh, yeah, Jim. I, um, brought you that tea and the crackers you said you'd have. Don't worry about the tea, it's a nice herbal blend, very light and a little minty." Blair shifted his gaze to Jim's eyes for a second, and was almost glad to see that he wasn't watching Blair's face. Instead he was looking down at his hands, in the water. "Jim?" 

"I lied to you, you know." It was softly said and with regret. 

Blair was nonplussed. "What? What are you talking about?" 

"Those two women we ran into on campus. What I told you they said - I lied to you." 

Not sure how he felt about that, his answer was a rather inane, "Oh." Blair felt himself slowly sink to the floor, settling back on his haunches. Knowing his hands were going to start shaking, he set the tea on the floor beside him, so its rattle would not betray him. He clasped them together in his lap and waited. 

Jim raised his head to look at Blair directly. "I was a bit pissed that here was a college student who had all the answers as to what was going on with me when I didn't have a clue myself, who had save my life because I wasn't willing to listen, learn or accept, who was just so alive, on top of the world, and when you asked me to 'radar up' on them, I just had to burst your bubble. I'm sorry, Blair. You should know, she thought you were adorable." 

Blair's heart almost stopped. Jim's eyes were conveying guilt, a bit of anguish, and an intense depth of emotion Blair was almost too scared to name. "Adorable?" It came out as a harsh whisper. Screwing up his courage, Blair added, "And what do *you* think?" 

Jim was finding it very hard to think straight, let alone articulate his feelings. The connection/shiver/warmth he'd felt earlier was back, only now a twenty times more powerful. He could feel himself becoming erect and knew he was headed out-of-control. To alleviate his confusion over the strength and depth of what he was feeling, he decided a bit of levity was in order. Smiling slightly he said, "Well, I think she thought you were adorable. What's not to adore?" 

The light, careless tone, caused Blair's heart to completely drop out of his body and with all his instincts telling him to move, he bounded up and headed out. Away, anywhere, leave, get as far away from this sudden source of raging pain as he could. Not looking for keys, jacket or anything so mundane as to slow him down, he had just reached the front door when he found himself literally shoved up against it from behind, wet heat soaking into his back and a voice, hoarse and choked, repeating over and over, "I'm sorry, Blair, so sorry, god, please don't leave..." 

Blair's arms were bracketing his head, fingers splayed out on the door's rough surface. Jim's left hand came up and he gently touched his fingers to Blair's same hand...stroking the back of the hand first, then lacing together their fingers and intertwining them. The grip was strong, sure, protective, and yet passionate, tender. "God, Blair, this scares the hell out of me...I'm so sorry...didn't mean to hurt you or cause you pain...seems as if that's all I've done since I met you, but believe me when I say...what I feel for you is real, it embodies all of me, to even call it love, doesn't even begin to express whatever the hell it is...Blair, please, please don't leave..." 

Blair could hear the desperation in the voice, feel the passion in the hardness pressed up against his ass, but more than that, he could feel the tenderness and love in the hand entwined with his own. The tears he hadn't noticed shedding when he'd run for the door, were wet on his cheeks, and his throat felt like it was about to close up. He closed his eyes and ached to express what he in turn felt. Perhaps sensing this, Jim backed up a little, and dropped Blair's hand. As soon as he had Blair turned to face him, Jim's right hand threaded with Blair's left. Jim immediately closed the distance between them again, and braced them both against the wall. He lowered his face to Blair's and rested his forehead against the smaller man's. "Blair.... please open your eyes..." It was exquisite torture for Jim waiting to see what those eyes would say to him. He held his breath as Blair's lashes stirred on his cheeks and were finally raised, like a blind on a window being opened. Jim beheld the deepest blue, the warmest shade of the fire's flame he'd ever seen. Feeling unworthy of the passion, trust, and certainty he saw there, Jim's own eyes dropped to Blair's wet cheek and knowing he had to make atonement, he brushed his lips across the salty surface of the silky-rough skin. His tongue came forth to taste the salt, to know the anguish which he caused by his thoughtless flippancy. His lips traced a path back to one of those brilliant sapphires and he caressed the lid with his tongue, drinking in the moisture still left by Blair's spontaneous burst of pain. And didn't notice that in sympathetic reaction to Blair's suffering, his own eyes started to spill over. 

"Jim." It was the lightest of whispers. 

In reaction to his name, Jim tightened his fingers on Blair's, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and continued to use his lips to plead for forgiveness. He crossed the bridge of Blair's nose, making silent restitution with Blair's other eye before tracing down that cheek too. 

"Jim," this time a little louder and stronger and accompanied by a bandaged hand that stroked across Jim's own cheek, soaking up some of Jim's own moisture. "Jim, open your eyes, let me see you." 

"No," he moaned. He was hard, aching, shaking with the intensity of love, passion and anguish and he just knew if he looked at Blair, he'd shatter. 

"Listen to me, Jim." Blair's voice held a commanding yet gentle tone. "You are my shield, my protector. Sentinel of my heart. And as your guide and your keeper, I have yours also. You don't think I'm scared of this? I'm terrified. All day my instincts have been pushing me towards you...to aid you, protect you...to give you the guidance and help that only I can give. I, at least, had a clue as to what you are, what's been happening with you. I had knowledge, research, and belief. But you, you were lost without any sign posts to tell you what you'd become and what you needed. And out of nowhere comes this suddenly brash neo-hippie long-haired geek, who's telling you exactly what's the matter with you and this is what you have to do in order to stay sane? Let me tell you, I'd've resisted too. I'd've probably done more than simply say thanks but no thanks. Jim, give yourself a break. I think you can be more than forgiven for a bit of inappropriate levity, and you certainly aren't to blame for my own insecurity." 

Jim, whose eyes were still firmly squeezed shut, had taken to resting his cheek against Blair's as he spoke. Blair's hand had continued to caress Jim's face, down his neck, over his shoulder, patting and reassuring with this touch. When silence fell, Jim realized his shaking had subsided somewhat, his heart rate had slowed down a bit, and that his eyes didn't have that distressing tendency to produce gallons of water. Taking a somewhat deep breath, he pushed himself away from Blair and opened his eyes. 

Gentle understanding shown out at him, as well as a bit of mischief. "Hey, big guy. How about getting back in that tub. Believe it or not, all of that shaking is *not* due to emotional upheaval." 

Jim's eyes smiled at him, grateful for the sentimental reprieve. "Okay - but only if you can fit in, too." 

"I think that can be arranged." 

Still holding onto Blair's left hand, Jim led the way back to the tub.  
  


* * *

  


End note: All my beta readers said I didn't need the ubiquitous sex scene and that it was perfect like this. Blame them!  
  


* * *

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